


Metamorphosis

by Cuilchan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Humour, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, What happened in Vancouver stays in Vancouver, Yuri Needs A Hug, Yuri Plisetsky is savage af, introspective, past jjbek, they really need to work around their feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:52:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9338405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuilchan/pseuds/Cuilchan
Summary: When Yakov and Lilia suggested that his new skating programme should be around the theme ofMetamorphosishe had laughed at first. That had been pretty much Yuri Plisetsky’s attitude, never dropped it and possibly never will. He thought it was dumb and clichéd (as figure skating sometimes ended up being), particularly when they suggested working around some Tchaikovsky for his free skate.“Your body has changed, your beauty is evolving Yuri Plisetsky. You are an evolving work of art. Your style needs to become distinctive.” Lilia stated, a quite neutral expression on her face as she slapped his free leg into position. “Of course, you could fail the challenge. It’s not unheard of. This could potentially be your Swan Song.”“So much for encouragement.” Yuri muttered and Lilia shot him a stern look.Hag.





	

When Yakov and Lilia suggested that his new skating programme should be around the theme of _Metamorphosis_ he had laughed at first. That had been pretty much Yuri Plisetsky’s attitude, never dropped it and possibly never will. He thought it was dumb and clichéd (as figure skating sometimes ended up being), particularly when they suggested working around some Tchaikovsky for his free skate.

“Your body has changed, your beauty is evolving Yuri Plisetsky. You are an evolving work of art. Your style needs to become distinctive.” Lilia stated, a quite neutral expression on her face as she slapped his free leg into position. “Of course, you could fail the challenge. It’s not unheard of. This could potentially be your Swan Song.”

“So much for encouragement.” Yuri muttered and Lilia shot him a stern look. _Hag_.

***

Yuri had eventually agreed to the theme, but asked both Yakov and Lilia complete control over costumes and music. He would trust them with his life when it came to technique, but if his style needed to become distinctive, he would need to find it on his own. He had a couple of ideas and, most of all, he had contacts. If he needed to play around the image of the _Fairy_ and the _Ice Tiger_ of Russia, you bet your ass he would. Play hard or go home, right? This was Yuri’s attitude. Bred and born out of his ever-so-healthy relationship with competition.

He contacted his friend Sofia (a composer with the sickest YouTube channel and Instagram) and after a few meetings with her, he knew they had finally got it. Yuri decided his style was hybrid. A delicious blend of classical, rock, and metal. He had grace and elegance, but he was also sharp, piercing, and he had plenty of bite to spare. He could delicately skate to a soft piano, but he also loved the energy of fast-paced music. He adored the challenge it brought. So, he decided he would have both: a delicate, but sharp short programme (an original piece), and the coolest arrangement of _Swan Lake_ one could ever work on. It started with the soft piano and the original tune and then it switched completely, electric guitar, drums and vocals like you wouldn’t believe.

Yuri couldn’t wait for Otabek to listen to it. In fact, he couldn’t wait at all and called him right when he had the piece, which translated into calling him when it was ridiculously late where Beka was.

“Yuri? Are you okay?” Otabek’s voice was low and tinged with worry. He had probably woken him up. Crap.

“Sure, I’m good. Sorry, were you sleeping?”

“It’s 2 am.”

“ _Fuck_. Sorry.”

Silence followed and he could just hear a soft shifting through the covers on the other side.

“’s alright.” he murmured, at last. “What’s up?”

“I have the sickest free skate arrangement and you need to hear it. ASAP.”

Yuri could swear he could _hear_ Otabek smile.

“Sure. Send it over. I’m waking up at five for training.”

Crap.

“Sorry.”

“I’ll text you when I listen to it, ok?”

“Ok, stellar.” _Stellar_? What the hell was he saying?

“Good night, Yuri.”

“Good night.”

 

Okay, maybe his heart was pounding a bit too loudly in his chest (he had no idea why calling Otabek felt often like one of the most intimate experiences), and maybe he was feeling slightly guilty for waking poor Otabek up. And maybe – _maybe_ – there was something more between them, because, as Yuri kept reminding himself, friends don’t kiss each other. There usually was far too much tongue to be _friendly_. They also slept together. Like, in the same bed. They never really talked about it too much. It just was what it was. It felt like they didn’t need to. They had known each other for three years, but the _kissing_ had started only last season.

Yuri could feel his cheeks burning and brought a pillow to cover his face. _Ridiculous_.

***

Yuri was sipping some awfully sweet hot chocolate on the taxi to the hotel. Lilia complained, as usual, saying that he would get fat with all that sugar, and Yakov gravely agreed, adding that he’d probably fall on his ass on the next quad Salchow.

“Geez, this chocolate is surely sweeter than what your lives must have been.” Yuri pouted, lowering his sunglasses down his nose as he tuned out from the rest of the conversation.

He was tired and possibly jet-lagged. Yuri had panicked at the airport, the result of a journey that could only come out of his worst nightmares, where they were eternally late, and the plane was late, and everyone seemed to repeat “I’m sorry but we cannot guarantee your luggage will be waiting for you in Toronto”. A joke, really, from start to end.

He couldn’t wait to just get to his room and crash—

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

_15:43 Hey, are you here yet? Could go out for a coffee if you are._

Otabek. Scratch whatever he had just said. He could hardly help his smile.

_15:45 Sounds good. Yeah, I’m almost there. Taxi. Our flight was delayed._

Another text.

_15:47 I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re not too tired?_

Yuri suppressed a yawn.

_15:49 Nah, I’m good. I slept on the plane._

_For maybe one hour and a half at most_ , he mentally added as he pressed ‘Send’. If Otabek knew, he would probably lock him up in his room. He lazily checked the tail of his long braid for split-ends; the taxi was taking its time, proceeding so incredibly slowly in the traffic that at some point Yuri thought he could have just got off and walked.

***

_Tenderness_. Otabek fucking Altin will be skating to the theme of _tenderness_. No matter how many times Yuri heard it from Otabek himself he could just feel his heart doing a quad flip in his chest. He wasn’t too sure if his heart ever landed the jump.

Otabek’s mother composed the music for the short programme. No matter how many times he asked him to, he wouldn’t let Yuri listen to it, although they did talk about jumps and even show some of the overall performance. _What a tease_.

Yuri absent-mindedly sucked the piercing on his lower lip, stirring the huge cup of coffee right under his nose.

Otabek nodded, in acknowledgment.

“Forgot you had gotten one. Nice.” he hummed, taking a sip from his cup.

“Dude, it was everywhere on my Instagram.”

“I don’t use Instagram all that much.”

Yuri grinned. “That’s your excuse. You say you don’t and then you probably stay up late staring at my pictures. Pervert.”

Otabek chuckled, the look in his eyes as far away from tenderness as it could ever be.

“ _Maybe_.”

Excitement rushed through Yuri’s body as he let himself slide down his chair with the biggest grin on his face. He was _so fucked. God, he was so fucked_.

***

They spent a couple of hours drinking coffee and lazily walking around the city until Yuri could not really hide how tired he felt anymore.

They headed back to Otabek’s room and spent the evening on the bed, _Pulp Fiction_ slowly buzzing on Otabek’s laptop as he kept unbraiding and braiding back Yuri’s hair, over and over again. Yuri did his best to curl himself into a ball (it was quite difficult to do that now considering how long his legs had gotten) and laid back against Otabek’s chest. As soon as he started circling his fingers around Yuri’s scalp, Yuri couldn’t help but lean more against the touch; he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that relaxed. At that point, he couldn’t remember anything at all.

“Any minute and you’ll start purring.” Otabek murmured, his touch ever so gentle as he brushed Yuri’s ear with his lips.  
Despite being pretty much asleep, Yuri Plisetsky admirably found the strength to mumble “…ck yourself.”

***

Sadly, Yuri couldn’t live in his warm little bubble forever. It had lasted long enough as a really pleasant night of sleep and a couple of lazy kisses in the morning and then there he was, back in his room where his shower for some reason couldn’t really get past lukewarm.

His phone had been bombarded by messages from Yakov who was waiting for him in the hall, impatient to get to morning practice.

_06:17 Did you forget you have a competition?!_

Whatever. Did that man never sleep?

***

This year’s Skate Canada seemed to hide some surprises for everyone. Chris Giacometti was still recovering from a leg injury, which had people yelling and mourning the death of his career as a competitor. In all honesty, Yuri didn’t put too much weight on whatever journalists said: some of them were just salty, some were waiting the right moment to hit you in the head, and others were plain assholes. He trusted Chris to make a strong comeback in his own time.

What was new, Yuri noticed, were some new faces. Some – he considered, holding his breath in a dramatic gasp – younger than he was. At the current age of eighteen he already started to understand how everybody must have felt after his triumph in Barcelona. All the more a reason for him to stand tall – literally – among the competitors. He might have given everybody a run for their money when he was fifteen, but in the latest three years on the ice Yuri had remained a strong and respectable competitor with solid victories.

Then, of course, there was still JJ. That shithead, that horrible Canadian tragedy was still going strong. Sure, pressure got him more than he would like to admit from time to time, but he was a fighter nonetheless. He was at the event, obviously, his fans as loud as they would ever be. This year he had prepared a vintage themed programme – whatever that meant. For Yuri, it translated in catchy arrangements – although he wouldn’t admit as much not even at gunpoint – and an amount of sass he had no time for.

Everything Yuri Plisetsky contemplated while watching JJ’s performance on the notes of _Luck Be A Lady_ was murder.

It wasn’t a surprise noticing that JJ outskated him, but it was when Kenjirou Minami outscored Yuri by a sliver and Yuri had quickly found himself in third place. _Well, fuck._ Not only was he busy with Canada’s greatest tragedy, he now had Katsudon’s first fanboy clearly asking Russia to give him a lesson.

And then, of course, there was Otabek. Handsome, classy, fierce Otabek. His hair was combed back and his costume was simple yet effective. He was wearing an elaborate white silk shirt, black trousers and a sparkling loose bowtie around his neck. The story that Yuri associated with it initially was that of a man performing for his guests and the person he loved on his wedding day. Of course, Yuri had an inevitable coughing fit at the realisation.

“Beka, davai!” he yelled as his friend was approaching the ice. Otabek turned, smirked and bowed, _bowed_ in his direction. Yuri felt weak. No complaint was raised at the change in their mutual thumbs-up tradition. _None whatsoever_.

The music started. A delicate piano; one note followed the other, shyly, dictating the tempo. A waltz. This was the music that Otabek Altin didn’t want him to hear up to this point. A waltz where the man was dancing on his own, one hand held out as if waiting for another to grasp it and follow his movements on the ice. A quad toe.

Yuri was entranced. Otabek was following the music so perfectly, his body so relaxed and graceful like he had never seen him. Even his expression had the level of tenderness he was undoubtedly skating to. Yuri could cry. He could genuinely cry over the triple axel and triple toe combination and the delicate spins. He could cry and then he would hate himself because that was stupid. The only thing he wanted, he thought, was to take that solitary hand in his and join him in a waltz that so clearly ached for another pair of feet to be complete. His vision legitimately blurred. Fuck.

***

“Otabek, my man, that was classy as fuck!” JJ praised, smacking the other man on the shoulder. The Canadian tragedy had gotten there barely a couple of seconds before Yuri did, so he was able to compliment him before Yuri. Damn him. Unsurprisingly, Otabek’s score had been high enough to secure him the second place, which meant that Yuri now was sitting all the way down to the fourth. Never mind that, he’d make a full recovery with his free skate.

“Looks like you don’t want to join us on the podium, _kitten_?” JJ teased, acknowledging Yuri with a knowing smirk. He shouldn’t respond to his provocations, he should keep his cool, collected –

“Not only I’m going to join you, I’m going to throw you off.”

One corner of Otabek’s mouth lifted up in a smirk. _That’s right, Altin, you heard it right_.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” JJ continued, turning his attention to Otabek once again. “Seriously, man” he squeezed Otabek’s shoulder “ _Luck could be your lady tonight_.”

Otabek didn’t seem particularly impressed at all by that, but why the hell was JJ whispering like _that_? What was he implying? Luck? _Getting lucky_?

“What’s the matter, was it something I said? Whoops, my bad. _What happened in Vancouver should stay in Vancouver_. Forgot about it.”

“Huh?” Yuri asked, raising an eyebrow.

JJ had a smirk on his lips, a smirk Yuri ridiculously wanted to punch away.

“Well, never mind that. I’ll see you guys around. We should have dinner together!” JJ concluded with a shrug as he nonchalantly took his leave.

Yuri moved his glance between the departing Canadian tragedy and Otabek, once and then twice. Otabek didn’t move, but was purposely avoiding his gaze.

“ _What happened in Vancouver_ —what did he mean? The Finals should be in Vancouver this year but— _oh_.”

Yuri’s expression changed so quickly that Otabek visibly flinched.

“Yuri—”

“Oh.” he repeated, softer somehow. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he spelled out, not even looking for the answer he had already found in Otabek’s eyes. Otabek tried to grab his arm and Yuri shrugged it off. The tip of his ears was red and so was his neck; he wasn’t sure if he was at a loss for words or if he wanted to say too many things at once. He didn’t really know if he wanted to hear or say anything at all, to be honest. He couldn’t deal with it. He needed to leave.

“Yuri, wait, can we talk?”

_Talk? That was rich coming from him._ Yuri shook his head and stormed out.

“Yuri!”

“Fuck off!” Yuri yelled, without even turning back to face him. He was done. _Done_.

***

 

Three years. Three years – even more on Otabek’s part – and never had the young man thought he should have mentioned something like that to Yuri? That was outrageous.  He wasn’t blaming whatever happened between JJ and Otabek, that was their business (although it burnt a little that JJ got to yet another ‘gold’ before Yuri did)… It was just the lack of information and plain omission on Otabek’s part. They talked about all kinds of things, from the existence – or lack thereof – of a religious entity to Muppets memes. They even shared some of their darkest secrets (like Otabek liking musicals and Yuri enjoying Kesha a little more then ‘ironically’), so why was this different?

Yuri wanted to be angry. He really did. But as soon as he slammed the door of his room closed, he felt it all slip away. Everything. The anger, the pure red rage that couldn’t make him sit still in the taxi for one minute… gone.

He had dropped on his bed, face first on the pillow. What was the problem? Why was he getting so worked up about this?

Yuri played some music on his ipod, his fingers lazily swiping at whatever was new on social media. He spent some time on his personal and secret tumblr, mostly reblogging aesthetics, cats, and very salty quotes he would usually have no energy for. He closed the app and moved on. According to Instagram, Chris Giacometti had posted a couple of selfies with his husband and his cat, drinking wine in front of the telly. Yuri really had to admit – even if only silently in his mind – that it was goddamn adorable, but he blamed it mostly on the cat. Mila shared some independent-coffee-shop picture with something that looked like a very sweet cake. He debated with himself for a few seconds whether he should comment ‘you fat hag’ beneath it, then he decided against it. He commented ‘#treatyo’self’ instead.

Apparently, it was his mistake. And apparently, Mila never slept.

_20:28 Mila: The_ tumblr _bitter posts_ were _borderline, but u being nice is just dangerous._ Ssup _, kitten? <3_

Yuri sighed.

_20:29 Yuri: Isn’t it like 4 there_

_20:30 Mila: Yep!_

_20:31 Yuri: are you waking up or going to bed?_

_20:32 Mila: Not a chance, honey! <3 <3_

_20:33 Yuri: whatever, get wasted all you want before Yakov kicks your fat ass again_

_20:34 Mila: That’s more like u. No, srsly what happened?_

Yuri rolled his eyes, staring at the screen for a few seconds. He’d consider not replying, but Mila would be able to stalk him and send 280 texts to get a reply from him.

_20:36 Yuri: Nothing. Something. Who knows._

_20:36 Mila: If I wanted wisdom I’d eat a fortune cookie_

Yuri snorted.

_20:37 Yuri: then go get one. and leave me alone_

_20:38 Mila: I’ll leave you be, just because you have a competition! You’ll do great btw <3 <3_

_20:39 Yuri: great now I’ll break my leg_

 

Without waiting for a reply, Yuri considered the conversation over. He smiled – just a bit! – despite of himself.

_‘And everyone I know goes away in the end…’_

Well, now he had reached a new low. His ipod was throwing Johnny Cash at him, so Yuri decided he had enough and it was time to do what he had ignored up on that very moment. He sat up on his bed, turned off his ipod. Breathed. He checked on Otabek. He had muted their conversation – and found two lost calls and two messages.

_‘I’m sorry’_ and _‘Yuri can we talk? Please?_ ’

Despite the fact Otabek sent the two texts roughly around two hours ago, it didn’t really look like he was trying very hard… or _perhaps_ he just knew what it meant when Yuri got angry and knew he needed a cool off period. He knew better than trying _too early_ on. That guy was starting to know him so damn well. 

He finally typed the answer.

_‘Sure. I’ll eat something first. Get here in 20.’_

***

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting what he saw in Otabek’s eyes when he opened the door. Was that _fear_? He had never seen him scared and they had been at world competitions together, where the pressure was full on and every prying pair of eyes was there to either inspect them or expect them to fall.

“Hi,” he greeted, softly, as if tiptoeing.

“Hey.” Yuri replied, allowing him in and closing the door behind him. He had told himself to be patient, he knew he should be but there was something quite soft and raw that he felt hurting in his chest. Seeing Otabek like that made him sad, but it also stirred some anger. Or was it resentment? Yuri was never sure of any of his feelings.

“Would you stop that?” Yuri asked, clenching his fists together.

“Stop what?”

“Looking as if I’ve just walked over you, with my skates still on.”  

Voices in his head were screaming _What right does he have to feel like shit?_ and _Why can_ I _make him feel like shit? What’s so special?!_ Yuri just didn’t know which one was louder just yet.

“Yuri, I’m sorry.”

Otabek’s hand went out to squeeze his arm, but Yuri stopped it mid-air, squeezing it harder.

“I was hoping you’d elaborate on that. I got it the first time.”

Why was he that bitter? Why couldn’t he just talk like a decent human being to Otabek? Like an adult, for god’s sake.

_Maybe because I’m not a decent human being._

Otabek took a big breath and then let it out, slowly.

“It was before we met again in Barcelona, Yur—”

“I don’t give a damn about JJ!” he shouted, and Otabek was quite taken aback.

He hated himself. He hated himself so much and he couldn’t stop.

“Don’t you get it?” he asked, widening his arms. “You should have told me. Not because of JJ, but because you should have told me!” he stepped forward and then started pacing around.

“I never gave weight to it, not even at the time. All I wanted to do it was put it behind me!”

Yuri stopped, in the middle of the room. He put a strand of hair behind his ear. His fingers were shaking. “Were you waiting for the occasion to leave me behind as well?” Yuri’s voice was more broken than what he would have liked. “For fuck’s sake, Altin!”

“What do you want me to say?” Otabek asked, trying to maintain an eye contact that Yuri had already given up upon. His voice was firm, at least. Something Yuri wished he could say about his. “Of course that’s not what I want. If this is not about JJ then what is this about, Yuri?”

Indeed. _What is this about, Yuri?_

 

“Why Otabek…” he started and he had to take another gulp of air to continue. “Why would you hide something from me? Why would you hide _this_?” he closed his eyes, taking another slow, shaky breath. He could have easily started crying. He wanted to say so many things and it seemed like he could say only the wrong ones, or that he just couldn’t add what he would have liked.

“I wasn’t hiding it from you!”

“Oh, right, so you thought you wouldn’t mention it at all, not even when you kissed me? Not even when _whatever-the-hell-this-is_ ” Yuri gestured at the space between them “started?”

“Yuri, _please,_ ”

“No—”

“Yuri?”

Silence.

“Yuri, could you _fucking_ look at me when I’m talking to you?”

Yuri lifted his glance from the ugly carpet he didn’t realise he had been staring at. He could feel the tears pushing at the corner of his eyes. How could he make it stop? How could he make everything stop? Did Otabek hate him now? When will he? Otabek really couldn’t put up with his shit forever.

Otabek took his hand in his and brushed the back of his hand with his thumb.

“Of course I care about you. Of course I care about _us_.” he gestured at the space between them, as Yuri had done before.

“Why do you care about me when you can’t even trust me?” Yuri murmured, breaking both the eye contact and the touch of their hands. “I’m sorry, Otabek, I can’t do this. Not now.”

“Yuri,”

“ _Please_.” Yuri interrupted, feeling the first tear on his cheek. “Please leave now.”

 

As Yuri fixed his eyes again on the horrible arabesque on the carpet, the door of his room closed with a click. He was alone.

***

Yuri Plisetsky was a joke. He couldn’t even make a friend in his goddamn life and the first person that had actually put up with him will probably soon want to run away from him and never look back. Always saying the wrong things at the wrong time; very inappropriate humour; a punk; couldn’t get people to treat him like he wanted them to in competitions when he was younger, and now that he could, he was objectively sucking ass. _What a joke_.

His arms tightened up around the pillow. It was damp against his cheek, but Yuri wanted it to be there, needed its soft comfort. He wished his cat were there. He wished he could hug his grandpa.

Truth be told, what would Nikolai Plisetsky say if he saw him like that?

_“If there’s a thing that Plisetskys do not lack, is courage. The second thing is the attitude.”_

He had heard his grandpa saying this so many times, especially when he told him about what the other kids were doing or saying at the rink. Yuri always wondered if the Plisetsky genes only blessed him with plenty of attitude because they got short on courage. He didn’t feel particularly brave. He certainly wasn’t feeling _brave_ that night. Quite the opposite of it; he had run away. He had shut down, trying to shut his emotions too.

Wasn’t that his problem anyway? Pretending he didn’t have emotions, pretending that he could simply power through everything because never mind, he’ll cry when it’s over. He had been on his own for a long time, it was the only way he could cope with everything. If he wasn’t going to be strong for himself – for his family – nobody was going to be. But now it wasn’t really working anymore. Everything was _changing_.

Wasn’t that what he was skating to anyways? _Metamorphosis_? Did he really get to this point without understanding?

He didn’t change overnight. Nor could he do it just through sheer willpower. It was nothing bad… he wouldn’t become anything he didn’t want to be. But he wanted to be someone Beka would trust.

That was the whole point: that was why it was bothering him so much. It wasn’t JJ, it was never him, fuck that Canadian tragedy. If Beka didn’t tell him because he didn’t trust him or because he was afraid of the reaction he could get from Yuri then _that_ needed to _change_. How could their relationship – whatever it was – work if one of them didn’t put their whole self into it?

Granted, Yuri needed to ease on the attitude – just a pinch and just for Otabek’s sake. But if there was one thing that he knew how to do was to work hard for what he wanted. Train himself; discipline himself; find that balance that will not make him falter. He really wanted to show everybody that he _was_ an evolving work of art, he wasn’t just skating to it for the sake of it.

That’s what he needed to do with his free skate. He needed to show everybody.

 

His alarm went off and Yuri found himself staring at the screen of his phone. He didn’t really get any sleep, he looked like garbage, but, damn, he felt ready. He dismissed everything inside his head, everything in favour of the drive and focus that he finally felt.

After a shower, coffee, and a proper breakfast he was in the hall of the hotel just two minutes before Yakov got there. His coach was impressed and Yuri was not going to stop.

***

He wasn’t sure if Otabek had avoided him, if he had avoided Otabek or if they just plainly hadn’t seen each other. It didn’t matter. Otabek was skating after Yuri and there wouldn’t be a real chance to talk before the competition anyway. It was better this way. He needed to show Otabek. He needed Otabek to see.

He adjusted the sleeves of his costume, out of habit. He had been quite proud of it and he still was. The costume played around both the black and the white swan with colours, so that it was black at the front and white at the back, and two different stylised wings were the pattern that decorated the chest. On the back, the costume had also a low cut, joining the two starting points of the two differently coloured wings on his lower back. Some of the stylised feathers had some real feathers for effect and his left hip had an additional half-skirt. He very much wanted to play around the gender fluidity of the performance and, in fact, he didn’t even bother changing the vocals. That was also one of the beauties of metamorphosis itself, as well as playing around both the androgynous traits that had been Yuri’s trademarks for so long as well as the more masculine build he was starting to show. His hair was lose over his shoulders and he was sure they would associate him with some of Viktor’s past performances. He didn’t really mind. He knew Viktor didn’t prepare something _quite_ as this.

 He felt surprisingly ecstatic and full of energy despite the lack of sleep. It was his moment.

“Yuri! Davai!”

Yuri only smirked. _Watch closely, Altin_.

The familiar _Swan Lake_ tune started, blasting electric guitars and drums in alternation to build the tempo.

_Her soul will be a swan until she feels the love of a nobleman…_

 

Yuri didn’t remember the last time he had this amount of energy and determination during one of his performances, so he gave everything he had and more. He put everything he had on how quick his spins became, and how elegant his Biellmann was.

Every muscle was stretched, every movement as graceful as he could manage. He needed every extra point he could gather for execution. His jumps were as aggressive and precise as ever – except for what he perceived like a slightly under-rotated triple flip.

He added a quadruple toe loop to his second half, just because he could.

He was so focused, so focused he couldn’t even think, so focused he’ll probably forget everything about his execution right after stepping off the rink. 

And when the music stopped, his arms were extended, wide and delicate as wings and the audience was giving him a standing ovation. Yuri’s chest spasmed; he coughed a couple of times trying to get his breath back. Droplets of sweat fell on the ice. Everyone was still clapping and Yuri didn’t move for what it felt to him as a long time. A rain of cat plushies was starting to fall and he knew that it was his cue to leave. After a small bow to the audience, Yuri found that stepping off the ice that day was difficult.

Yakov and Lilia were talking to him and patting him on the back, but he was still quite overwhelmed. What had just happened?

Apparently, Yuri had almost beaten Yuuri Katsuki’s world record for the free skate. But not quite yet. Damn. Still, his score was impressive and he mentally pledged to just throw off everyone that came near him.

***

When Beka stepped once again on the ice, Yuri could tell he was nervous. Yuri was also sure that it wasn’t strictly about his performance. He saw him wait, and Yuri waited too. Then, just before the very start of his performance Yuri yelled as loud as he could “Beka! Davai!”

The music had started, but Beka took his time to give him a thumbs up anyway. Yuri was sure his heart skipped a beat at that.

***

When Yuri got the gold and stepped over the podium with Otabek and JJ, Yuri was quite pleased with himself. Not only because of the gold itself – which, by the way, was in Canada, so it just felt like a personal victory he had gotten over JJ – but also because Beka had defended his silver. Otabek was standing slightly below him in his black jacket and bowtie from the free skate, a small smile on his lips. Yuri just couldn’t resist the urge to pull a Nikiforov and grabbed Otabek by his collar and kissed him in front of everyone.

JJ whistled and then clapped along with the audience.

He could already sense _somebody_ text him straight away.

***

“So,” Yuri looked up to Otabek while his head was resting in his lap. This time _Kill Bill_ was buzzing in the background. “Did you get why I did it? Why I kissed you in front of everyone?”

Yuri needed to ask. He usually wasn’t public, he wasn’t loud – well, not in this particular area. Otabek smiled.

“I have a couple of theories.”

Yuri lifted himself up enough to comfortably caress his cheek and touch his forehead with his.

“I don’t want you to keep things from me. If you’re honest about us—”

“I am.” Otabek cupped his face. Yuri couldn’t help but smile a small smile.

“Then you should be able to talk about everything with me.”

“I just didn’t want to hurt you.”

Otabek’s eyes were so big and full of concern that Yuri thought he could just die from the grip those eyes put around his heart. He decided to cling to his dignity and suppress the little squeak that almost escaped his mouth.

“You did hurt me, and before you say anything – it’s okay. We are going to hurt each other a couple of times. It’s just life. But _please_ –”

Otabek should know how serious he’s being since he used the p-word.

“I’m not going to shatter. I’m not made of ice. As a matter of fact, I fucking put my blades into ice.”

Otabek caressed Yuri’s lips with his thumb and chuckled.

“Okay, Ice Tiger of Russia. Just – just don’t walk all over me with those blades.” he bent forward to bite Yuri’s lower lip, but Yuri moved his head back, with a smirk.

“I will, if you fucking deserve it.” Yuri finally gave up into the kiss, all teeth and no tongue. He circled Otabek’s waist with his arms and rested his head on his chest. Beka kissed his hair.

This was it, for Yuri. This was worth everything. They were there for each other. Yuri thought it wouldn’t hurt to hold onto each other too, just a little bit longer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Music cited:  
  
[Luck Be A Lady - Frank Sinatra ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X69P_Vce9vw)

  
  
[Otabek's Waltz ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hOcryGEw1NY)

 

[Hurt - Johnny Cash](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ur8j4xWe_44)

  
  
[Swan Lake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uxfAAy2L6Y)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was legitimately born from a conversation with a friend about hypothetical JJbek. A beautiful Otayuri came out of it and I really enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> The music I referenced for Otabek's Waltz is mostly the music I used while I was writing about his SP skating. For JJ, I'd imagine he'd probably sing his own version of the song. For Yuri's FS, I am loosely referring to something like the Dark Moor version, but Yuri has it rearranged and cut (Yes, I really wanted him to skate to something quite like Welcome to the Madness! Since we didn't get to see it, I thought I'd get more like this). 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Apologies for any mistakes/typos; English is not my first language and the fic is not beta'd.
> 
> Until next time ~


End file.
